I'm Not One of Them
by Red the Ordinary
Summary: From the moment of his birth, little Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was deemed unfit to one day become a strong, powerful Viking like his father. At the same time a small, young dragon realizes what he's destined to become.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I started this fanfiction several months ago, almost immediately after seeing the film for the third time. At this point, I hadn't read the books yet, and began to write backstory for Hiccup and Stoick before I knew about any of the book material. As a result, I was left to come up with my own name for Hiccup's mother, which I continue to use despite the fact that I've read the books, and now know her real name. As an author, my personal preference is to call her by the name Eira. If you have an issue with that, I don't need to hear it 'cuz I've gotten pushed around enough for not naming her Valhallarama. :P

That being said, I hope you'll enjoy what I've written here. It seems to have become quite popular on dA, and I hope as much for that here. 8D

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All fell completely silent in the small Norse village called Berk while snow steadily fell upon the frozen ground, as if the gods had commenced the silence themselves. Not one voice whispered a single word, not one foot crept out unto the freshly fallen snow, not even one curious face poked out of their warm homes as all waited in anxious silence to hear some news. From everything they had heard, things weren't turning out as well as they had hoped and prayed.

Small families crouched in front of their warm fires, praying to the gods for protection over the chief's wife, Eira. Her cries and gasps could be heard echoing throughout the village hours before, but had since fallen to complete silence. No one dared to ask what was happening - they believed that her fate was left up to the gods, and it would be unholy to inquire of their reasons for allowing her to fall so ill. All they could do was plead mercy on her and on her distraught husband, Stoick the Vast: chief of their tribe.

Pacing back and forth in front of their home was all he could do; the nurses at his wife's side refused to let him in. Every so often he could hear one of them speaking softly to Eira, encouraging her to stay calm, but not once did he ever hear his wife's tender voice break the stillness of the quiet night. With a deep sigh, he lifted his teary eyes up to the glistening heavens, slowly shaking his head.

"Oh, Frigg, protect my dear Eira," he whispered. "I beg of you, _please _bless this childbirth."

Not long after he had offered up the simple prayer, the silence was shattered by a shrill, mournful wail. Yet amidst the cries of his newborn child, Stoick never once heard his precious wife utter a sound. He turned around and burst into the house to find Eira laid in front of the fire, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by nurses. Her normally sturdy frame had become so thin and fragile, and her once-ruddy face so pale and hollowed. He hardly recognized her as he stepped inside. He walked closer and glanced over to see a nurse wrapping a small bundle together in her arms. She immediately turned around to face him, giving a small smile.

"You have a son, Stoick," she softly announced, tiptoeing nearer to him. He could hardly pay attention to the tiny face buried under the blankets, and his gaze turned back to Eira. He placed a hand on his son's head and gulped down a sob.

"How is she?" he asked the nurse who was still holding his baby boy. She glanced away and didn't reply. "Will she pull through?"

No one answered his question. All seemed hesitant to reply. His breath came harder the longer they remained silent, and he finally abandoned his infant son to kneel by Eira's side. He placed his hand atop her head, which was still drenched in sweat but unnaturally cool to the touch. With his other hand, he took her limp left hand and rubbed her delicate fingers.

"Eira?" he choked. His voice came out weak and frail, like a frightened child's. "Wake up, dearest, and see our son. A _son_, Eira! Frigg has blessed us with a firstborn son, with hair so rich and thick, and your perfect little nose and lips."

Eira made no reply. Stoick gripped her hand harder and held back tears the best he could. A nurse who had been attending her placed a hand on his shoulder, slowly shaking her head as she did so.

"She's... gone, sir," she managed to say. "She passed moments after the birth was over."

For several painful moments, all he could do was stare at the lifeless body of his wife, his mind and body gripped with shock and frozen with disbelief. Of all the battles he had fought, of all the wounds or blows he had ever received, he couldn't recall a single one that took his breath away like this. It was as though Thor himself had thrown a war hammer into his stomach. Dazed, he pushed himself to his feet, finding that his eyes never wavered from Eira's body. A soft and pitiful whimper was the only thing that diverted his attention, and he turned back around to see that nurse still clutching the baby close to her chest. He timidly walked forward, doing his best to steady his shaky legs, and held out his arms for the baby.

Now holding his son in his arms for the first time, he noticed that the boy's flushed cheeks were graced with tiny blemishes - freckles, as they were often called. His little round nose was so perfectly like his mother's, and his ears the image of his father's. He ran his fingers through the baby's thick head of hair; so soft to the touch and chestnut-colored from birth. His little boy pushed his arms out from underneath the blankets, and with one hand he reached up to grab one of his father's fingers.

Stoick would have been astounded and amazed at the sight of his perfect only son, but one thing kept him from deeming the child perfect: he was tiny, thin-framed and sickly; nothing like the other children born to Viking parents, who, from birth, were brawny and broad-shouldered, as he himself was from the moment of his own birth. And he, the chief of the tribe and the most experienced fighter and dragon slayer, was cursed with a son that in no way resembled his Viking ancestors.

Tears finally crept from his eyes as he studied his baby boy. "Odin, why have you cursed me with this... this, tadpole of a son?"

The room remained quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time until one of the nurses finally cleared her throat and spoke up.

"Eira told us she wanted him named Torer, for the blessing of his future as a warrior," she said, but as she spoke the name, Stoick closed his eyes and took in a deep, painful breath.

"He is no warrior of Thor," he bitterly whispered. He held the boy up, and his tiny frame was silhouetted by the back light of the fire. With another shake of the head, Stoick heaved a sigh. "This sickly child will never be one of us."

As he spoke, he heard the door creak open behind him, and the familiar _pad, thunk, pad, thunk_ of his childhood friend Gobber echoed through the mostly empty house. Almost ashamed of his child, he held him close and obscured him from view as his good friend stepped closer to get a look at the baby.

"Aye, there's hope still for the boy," Gobber noted, pointing to the squirming infant. "He could very well grow up to be a dragon slayer like you, Stoick. You just gotta feed 'em well and be patient. Who knows? Maybe he'll surprise you."

Stoick set his jaw. "I refuse to name him something he will never grow into." Gobber stroked his chin and thought.

"Well, you know, some parents give their children names enough to scare off trolls or smaller dragons, sometimes even evil spirits," he pointed out. "Why just last month, that good man Haakon and his wife named their son Snotlout in hopes that he won't be carried off by a troll while he is still a wee boy." Stoick raised his eyebrows, and Gobber held up his palms. "It's been known to happen!"

For a long time, Stoick narrowed his eyes at the baby in his arms, only listening to him gurgle and whimper every so often. He held him up once more to study him, then shook his head again and growled. He nudged Gobber out of the way with his shoulder and walked towards the door, then pushed it open and stood in front of his home overlooking the village. Immediately, people began to stream out of their own homes, holding candles in their hands, and gathered at the bottom of the hill to get their first look at the chief's son.

"Odin has blessed me with a son," he announced, and at the words the village erupted in cheers. Gobber came to stand at Stoick's side again and took him by the shoulder.

"Aren't you going to tell them about dear Eira?" he whispered. "And they'll be wondering what you've named your child, too. That is, if you've given him a name at _all_."

"I can't tell them about Eira... yet," Stoick replied with another sigh. "And as for the name... I'll be keeping that between me and you for now."

Once the village had seen the new child, Stoick and Gobber walked back into the house and watched in silence as the nurses wrapped up Eira's body and discreetly brought her away to be prepared for burial. Stoick hardly had the chance to mourn before his son would cry or squeal, and it only made him more upset to be reminded that his wife, once a warrior and dragon killer herself, was taken from this life; and he had been left with one child - and not even a strong, healthy one, at that.

"So you _did_ name him, then?" Gobber wondered, once again breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Hopin' it's a nice one, like Ran or Inghart. You know, those names have been known to carry a lot of luck-"

"His name... is Hiccup," Stoick firmly said, staring hard at the boy, whose eyes opened slightly at the sound of his father's deep voice. They gleamed a brilliant emerald green in the firelight, for however short of a time they were opened. Gobber's eyebrows shot up, and he had to stifle a laugh.

"Hiccup?" he repeated. "Is that it?"

Stoick nodded in decision. "That's it. That's his name." He placed the baby in a wooden cradle by the fire, covered him in blankets to keep him from getting chilled, and sank into a chair. Gobber followed suit and sat across from him.

"Interesting name, indeed," he mused. "You can rest assured no trolls will be after him with a name like that." He paused, watching the fire as it slowly died down. "How do you think the village will take the name? After all, you _are_ the chief of the tribe, and they may be expecting some great name in honor of the warrior gods. Come to think of it, they're probably expecting a robust little boy instead of..." He waved a hand at the cradle. "...You know. _That._"

Stoick angrily glanced over at Gobber, growling again as he did so. Gobber pretended not to notice.

"You can't be so hard on him, Stoick," he continued, tapping the cradle with his foot every now and then. "He's an infant, and only an hour or so old, at that. It's not like he's being forced to fight dragons first thing tomorrow morning! He still has lots of time to grow, and if it helps you any, he can come work with me and make weapons until he gets bigger." He shrugged again and held up a hand. "It all takes time. Just be patient with him."


	2. Chapter 2

A pair of bright green eyes poked out from underneath a pile of snow, darting back and forth at the sight of the falling snowflakes that sparkled in the morning light. With a playful gurgle, the small dragon who had been hidden underneath the snow leapt up and threw his paws into the air, then whirled back around and snapped at the air with his teeth. He did this several times, aggressively pursuing the snowflakes that quickly melted upon touching him. Pausing to catch his breath, he watched as one by one, they landed upon his nose and immediately vaporized in his warm breath. Cooing and gurgling again, he sprang into a leap and flapped his wings in an attempt to fly, since he had tried so many times before and never got all that high. Sure enough, he tumbled back down to earth not moments after clearing five feet above the ground. He moaned and rolled back onto his paws, shaking the snow off of his scales for another try. He went down again, and got back up to do it once more. And again he fell. Again he scrambled to his feet and tried again, only to fail that time, too.

Upset with his inability to correctly fly, like his mother, he let out an angry shriek so loud, it made the trees quiver and release some of their snow. Almost upon instinct, a searing spurt of fire burst from his mouth and consumed a few overgrown bushes. He pulled back and panted heavily, narrowing his eyes at the plants as they burned. Snorting, he pawed at the ground and tossed his head, digging his claws into the frozen soil as he did so. When would he ever become the large, stealthy, high-flying dragon the rest of his rare kind was?

His breed was extremely scarce, but the most dangerous and by far the most intelligent. Humans who had previously tried hunting them down before never succeeded - the Night Fury could outwit every human trap, every human ambush, and every human attack with one swift flap of the wing, a whirl of the tail, and a single breath of fire. No human who had ever crossed paths with a Night Fury lived to tell about it.

As he stewed in his anger, the sound of flapping wings above his head grabbed his attention, and quick as a flash, his mother had landed in the clearing beside him. She let out a low grumble and nodded towards the flaming bushes, and the young Night Fury shook his head and snorted, explaining the reason for his anger. His mother interrupted him by gently nuzzling her nose against his neck and growling. She prodded at his tiny wings and gave a higher-pitched gurgle. He locked eyes with her for a moment, then flapped his wings, and she dipped her head. Without lifting his paws off the ground, he flapped his wings as hard as he could, over and over, until his mother seemed satisfied. With a nod of her head, she motioned for him to follow her, and began to lead him to an open meadow covered with a fresh blanket of snow.

She took off into a run, and he kept closely behind and followed her every move. She kept her wings tucked in, close to her body, and he did the same. For several minutes, she led him all over the meadow, back and forth, up and down, until he noticed their paw prints crossing each other. With a burst of speed, she took off straight and never turned to the left or right, and bowing his head, he ran with all his might to keep up. She suddenly extended her wings, and so did he; both keeping the speed at which they ran. She vigorously began to flap them, and as he did the same thing, he found that his feet were slowly parting with the ground. Instinctively, she sprang up from the ground and soared up into the air, and still keeping his head bent low, he flapped harder and harder, then let the momentum of his speed carry him as he mimicked her actions. He continued to flap his wings the hardest he could, and found that he had left the ground and was now quite high up in the air. His mother circled above him and called for him, and he climbed higher to meet her. He couldn't help but cry out in joy as he left the snowy earth behind and disappeared above the clouds.

His feet dangled uselessly below him, and he tucked them closer to his body, which helped him gain speed. Now abandoning everything, he let out another shrill shriek and pulled in his wings for a sharp dive, and when he had picked up the supersonic speed his kind was known for, he extended his wings and glided at top speed, then shot a stream of fire out in front of him. He could hear his mother calling again, praising him and encouraging him.

He could hardly contain himself. For the first time in his life, he was flying, and _truly_ flying. Reckless and free, soaring through the air hundreds of miles above human sight was what he was born for, and now to finally experience it was unlike what he ever imagined.

Mother and child soared amongst the clouds for hours, playing together in midair and racing each other around the island. When they finally tired, they camped for the night in a small gorge, where they found a pond with some fish as well as a few of their favorite plants growing up along the rocky walls. After a much-needed meal, his mother prepared a warm spot to nest for the night by melting the snow with her fiery breath. She curled into a ball and opened up her broad wings, and her small child bounded over to curl up beside her, quickly falling asleep in her warm embrace.

As her baby slept, she could hear human voices floating through the air several miles away, which told her a human encampment was closeby. For the remainder of the night, she kept alert for any sign of them, and at any slight noise her ears would twitch toward the sound. Sometimes it was enough to make her head jerk up, but for most of the night it remained silent, and she too fell into a peaceful sleep with her baby.


	3. Chapter 3

Golden bands of light streamed through the trees and cast pools of sunshine upon the muddy ground, and birds chased each other through the foliage of the woods, giving off joyful chirps as they played a game of tag. The air was fresh and smelled of newly-blossomed flowers, yet still quite frigid - enough to chill the insides of your nostrils and snatch the breath from your lungs. Snow was still piled in shadowy corners of the woods, where the sun never seemed to shine. Some wondered if it stayed there all summer long.

The sun had just barely crept over the horizon at the wee hour of 5:32 in the morning, and little Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was already up and about, traipsing through the woods alone with nothing but his home-made, hand-bound sketchbook and pencil tucked securely into his belt. He hadn't bothered to tell his father he was leaving, since he had been in the middle of a deep sleep, and Hiccup was afraid to wake him from such a heavy slumber. It was probably better off that he didn't know, anyway... if he did, he'd probably go looking for Hiccup and make him go back to the village to play with the other kids, which Hiccup hated. They were all bigger and stronger than he was and pulverized him half the time, which was hardly Hiccup's idea of "playing". All could swing an axe high above their heads, though none were younger than the age of three or older than six. Hiccup could barely even lift one of his father's smaller shields, while most four-year-olds already could. He was far more content to explore the woods on his own, looking for streams to go swimming in or rocks to throw... or sometimes, even dragons.

Most dragons never nested on the island; they usually flew in from some obscure place far off the coast of Berk, and did so only to raid and plunder the village. But Gobber had told Hiccup stories of dragons that had in fact made their homes on the island, and would lie in wait amongst the underbrush of the woods for any unfortunate being that happened to cross its path. He claimed that other dragons nested and hibernated in the rocky caves down by the shore, and if disturbed would probably be fit to set the entire village on fire. Yet others still, he had said, were probably safely nested underground - directly beneath their feet, in fact - cold and almost lifeless, in the deepest sleep you could imagine. It would take an earthquake to cause them to merely twitch or lift an eyelid.

_Gobber and his stories,_ Hiccup thought to himself with a chuckle, leaping across slimy stones that made a path across a small brook. _If there were any dragons out here, I'dda found one by now._

His boots - made of deerhide, lined with bear's fur, and carefully hand-crafted by Gobber - were soggy from the melting snow, as well as the brook he had just skipped across, and his feet began to ache with cold. He stopped and knelt beside a large rock to catch his breath, then sank to his bottom and proceeded to take off his boots. He wiggled his chilled toes until they began to tingle with warmth, then took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air and watched a few little birds fly over his head - sparrows, from the look of it. One of them landed upon a tree branch several feet above his head and chirped contentedly, its little head jerking back and forth and its chest rapidly rising and falling. Hiccup smiled at the sight and pulled out his sketchbook, attempting to draw it while it sat so still on the branch. His left hand reached for the pencil in his belt and moved swiftly across the page until the marks left behind resembled the little bird. He smiled at his drawing. _Not bad at all for my first try drawing a sparrow._

No sooner had Hiccup finished sketching, the sparrow darted off to chase its noisy friend. He sat in the cool air and bright morning sunshine a little while longer before pulling his boots back on and venturing further into the woods.

There came a point where everything was so overgrown, not even the biggest, burliest Vikings could cut through the twisting, intertwined mess of tree roots and unruly bushes. Hiccup had finally reached that point - which had been named the Sea of Entanglement, and for good reason - after two hours or so, and though he had been this way many times before, he had never tried to journey down there. He had been tempted to, but the fear of getting caught in the underbrush was enough to keep him away - for a while. This time when he laid eyes on the Sea of Entanglement, he became far more curious than afraid. Maybe dragons were down there, sleeping underneath all of those bushes and large leaves. It would be an excellent place for them to hide, since no one had ever really set foot down there or tried clearing it out.

Now Hiccup's curiosity peaked. _If I find dragons down here, I can tell Daddy, and he'll be proud of me for finding them all by myself._ Not altogether a bad thought, if you asked him.

From where he stood, the ground sloped down gently and formed somewhat of a gorge. The roots of the trees growing all around it stuck out of the walls that had been carved from years of water erosion, and bushes tall and wide grew up in between those roots, making the bottom of the Sea virtually invisible. Leaves as big as Hiccup's entire toddler body blanketed the mossy, damp floor below, adding to the lack of visibility. Nevertheless, he began to make his way down the muddy slope, taking a hold of tree roots to keep himself from slipping. He was tiny enough that he could easily slip underneath the entanglement, and in this cautious way he managed to make his way to the floor of the Sea. It was impossible to tell left from right, north from south in the green, leafy maze, and he was suddenly struck with a thought: He had easily made his way down and in, but how in Odin's name would he manage to climb up and out if he could hardly tell which direction he was walking in?

Hiccup stood there a while, thinking about that. The more he considered it, the more nervous he became. There was no one closeby to help him if he needed it. He could easily get caught in this mess, and who would get him out of it?

His nervousness quickly dissolved into panic, and he ran as fast as he could in the direction he thought he had come, but when he found himself running into a wall of tree roots, his entire body melted with fear and adrenaline began to surge through his veins. He immediately dashed in another direction, but tripped over a mossy stone and tumbled underneath a large bush, and its branches slashed his skin as he rolled. Scrambling to his feet, he frantically shoved the prickly branches aside and wormed his way out of the bush, bursting into a small clearing, then broke into a fresh run. He hadn't gotten very far before he felt his left leg catch, and within moments his face dove into the mud. He pushed himself upright and looked down to see his foot had gotten caught in the underbrush, so he tried kicking madly to free it. A sharp pain shot up his leg when he did, and he impulsively cried out at the sudden pain. Twisted ankle. That was just what he needed.

Tears began to sting his wide, frightened eyes, and he clenched his fingers into the mud and started to cry.

"Help, someone, _please_," he yelled at the top of his lungs. "_HELLLLPPP!_"

For a good ten minutes he sobbed and cried, hoping with every loud wail that someone would hear him; but no one ever came. He couldn't free himself from the grassy fingers that tightly kept his ankle clenched in its fist. Finally, his chest and throat hurt from all the yelling, and he stopped crying to wipe his eyes and catch his breath. In the silence, he thought he heard the branches rustling, but dismissed it as wind. He shoved himself into a sitting position and reached town to untangle himself, but every time he would even slightly move his ankle, that searing pain would send a rippling shock up his leg and right through his body. More tears streamed down his face at the pain, and he bit his lip to keep himself from crying.

"Odin, help me," he whimpered, once again wiping his teary face with his wet, muddy sleeve.

The rustling and shuffling seemed to be growing louder, but Hiccup hadn't noticed the wind picking up at all. He turned his head toward the sound and watched the bushes for movement. As he silently sat still, he slowly began to recall something Gobber had said about dragons that dwelled in the woods.

_"They hide in places where no one can ever find 'em,"_ he could remember Gobber saying, and even the ominous tone of voice he had used reverberated in his memory. _"Masters of stealth, that they are. A human would be lucky to get away if he ever crossed paths with one - or if one crossed paths with _him_."_

By now Hiccup wasn't so sure that he _did_ want to find dragons down here. And he was almost certain that rustling in the bushes was far from being just the wind.

His heart began to climb into his throat, and he could hear every single beat of it in his ears.

He began to see two glowing, amber eyes melting into view. Warm air slowly wafted his way, and he could smell the familiar sulfur-and-garlic scent of dragon's breath floating toward him. More crunching and snapping, and the rustling of leaves.

Hiccup's eyes were locked upon the steady, unwavering, piercing gaze of what he assumed to be a Monstrous Nightmare. It was probably fully-grown, and its brilliant emerald green scales glittered menacingly in the freckles of sunlight. If it weren't for those bright yellow eyes, Hiccup would have missed it entirely, for it camouflaged well here in the green, grassy Sea. As it put one paw in front of the other, he could clearly see its long claws, probably about three feet long, digging into the mud. He found its gaze to be somewhat hypnotic, and he had a very hard time looking away. His mind immediately went back to his trapped ankle.

_Oh gods, please have mercy, and help me get out of here!_ he silently prayed. _If I try freeing myself right now, that big ol' Nightmare will probably get mad._

Without looking away, he cautiously reached for his ankle and yanked on the tangled grass, trying his best to ignore the pain. With the panic and adrenaline coursing through his body, it seemed as though the pain had momentarily fled. The Nightmare sensed his prey was trying to escape, and it advanced closer. Sweat broke out across Hiccup's forehead, and his red hair began sticking to his face.

"Nice dragon," he gently called, but he couldn't hide the frightened quiver in his voice. "That's a... good dragon. Please... don't eat me..."

He turned over to give his right side a break, since he had been leaning on it the entire time, and when he did, something in his left pocket gouged into his side. He dug around in his pocket until he felt his hand clenching the handle of a small dagger he had brought along with him. He gave a frustrated sigh. It had been here all along - he could have freed himself nearly half an hour ago!

_Gods, I _really _don't like your sense of humor! _he angrily thought. He drew the dagger from his pocket and leaned down to start cutting the grass, but the Monstrous Nightmare happened to catch a glimpse of a human weapon, and it began to let out a deep, thundering growl. It bared its teeth and began to approach far more quickly than it had been.

Hiccup hardly had time to think. He didn't care about sudden movements, or showing your panic, or any of those things Gobber said made dragons attack. He frantically sawed away at the grass and panted heavily as his fear started catching up to him. The growl of the Nightmare was growing into a roar, and he could feel its hot breath running down his back. Next thing he knew, the dragon had pounced on top of him, turning him over onto his back, which twisted his ankle into the most unnatural position and caused something in it to snap. He yelled in pain and closed his teary eyes, and he could feel the Nightmare's warm saliva dripping onto his tunic.

_That's it,_ he thought to himself. _I'm done for._

"Please," he began to plead, "_please_ don't hurt me. Please... don't hurt me... Oh gods, help me! HELLLPPP!"

The Nightmare lifted its head and let out a screaming, mind-numbing roar that caused Hiccup's insides to rattle. He leaned forward the best he could and slashed at the grass once more - and finally caught it. It cleanly broke free as his little dagger pierced through it, and without a second thought he scrambled to his feet and chanced at escape by darting underneath the Nightmare's belly. Unfortunately, he could barely run with his left ankle being twisted and now broken, and he fell quite a few times. The Nightmare whirled around to see his breakfast escaping, and he tore off after the toddler.

"SOMEONE, HELP ME!" Hiccup continued to yell, pushing tree branches out of the way as he ran and stumbled and limped through the Sea. With him at such a disadvantage, it gave the Nightmare a great advantage, and he swiftly caught up to him within moments.

_What was the point of trying to escape, anyway?_ Hiccup thought with overwhelming dread as the Nightmare cornered him against the dirt wall of the Sea. _I escape only to get trapped again!_

He didn't even have the strength to yell for help again and braced himself to be scooped up into the giant dragon's mouth, but a familiar yell caught his ear before the Nightmare could take his first bite. He lifted his head and saw leaves shaking, and even the dragon's attention was diverted.

"_HICCUUUPPP!_" came the deep-throated shout, and into the clearing burst Stoick the Vast, yelling and swinging his biggest, most favorite battle axe above his head. "_GET OUT OF THERE!_"

The toddler rolled out from underneath the dragon and hid behind a bush while his father approached the Nightmare. Stoick roared loudly and attacked the dragon with all of his might, and within several minutes the Monstrous Nightmare had not only been gouged in the chest, but had also lost its head and one paw. The bloody, disembodied dragon twitched on the ground for a few seconds after falling over, and Stoick wiped his brow and turned to see his young son's bright red hair and teary green eyes poking out from behind the bush. Clearly, he was upset with Hiccup for running off - and almost getting killed - but at the sight of his little boy wiping his eyes and limping on his broken ankle, he couldn't help but sink to his knees and hold out his arms. Hiccup ran as fast as he could into his father's large, muscular arms and buried his face into Stoick's broad, sweaty chest.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy," he began to sob. "I thought if I could find a dragon all by myself, then you'd finally be happy with me... you know, since I'm not all that much like the other kids."

Stoick pulled him away and gripped his shoulders. "Hiccup, you could have gotten yourself _killed_ out here! You never told me you had left, and I got worried when I saw you weren't home or somewhere in the village. What if I had thought all this time you were down at the forge with Gobber, and never went out looking for you? You would have been that Nightmare's breakfast!"

Hiccup peered past his father's large, muscular body and saw again the remains of the dragon that nearly ate him.

Stoick paused, trying to retain his composure. "I know you meant well, but maybe you should wait until you're a bit older before you go on these kinds of adventures," he continued. His voice was sounding more and more stern.

"But Daddy," Hiccup pitifully interrupted, "the other kids are allowed to go looking for dragons. And... and they make their parents so proud when they find 'em. I almost got killed, but I _still _found a Monstrous Nightmare, all by myself - aren't you proud of me?"

Stoick was unsure of how to reply. He stared at Hiccup for a long time, watching as the boy slowly let go of a sad, awkward smile. Hiccup shuffled his feet, feeling uncomfortable in his father's steady gaze. He couldn't seem to read the expression on his solemn face. Finally, with a long sigh, Stoick stood to his feet and picked Hiccup off of the ground.

"We're going back to the village," he quietly announced. Hiccup buried his face into Stoick's neck as they began to climb out of the Sea. "Gobber'll set that ankle straight. But you promise me nothing like this will ever happen again."

Hiccup bit his lip and found some more hot tears had slipped down his face. There was something about that tone of voice his father would always use with him that tore him to pieces every single time. He gulped hard on a sob. "Y-yes, Daddy. I... I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

The young Night Fury was quite accustomed to his mother's disappearances, and in her absence usually kept himself busy chasing small rabbits or birds. Recently, he had been practicing flying now that he had finally gotten the hang of it, but had been scolded once by his mother for venturing too far into human territory in plain daylight. From then on, he kept careful track of how far from the nest he flew.

She hadn't allowed him to fly around in the camouflage of nighttime yet, but assured him that some day very soon, he too would be grown enough to attack humans and their nests along with her. He could already easily navigate in the dark on his own; Night Furies had excellent night vision and could perceive things up to two hundred feet away in the dark. And she had been observing that, too. She often let him hunt for food in the dark, and he would always bring back something despite how deep into the night it was.

He was currently becoming bored and tired of hopping through the treetops, pursuing birds as they danced back and forth to avoid the snap of his jaws or the swing of his paw. He leapt out of the tree he had been playing in and onto the ground, which had recently thawed in the warmer spring sunshine and was rapidly turning to mud, and gave himself a thorough shake before bounding off to find somewhere else to play. He crept through the rocky landscape, hiding behind trees whenever he could. His mother had warned him that their nest was closeby a human encampment, and he needed to be careful where he ventured. He kept this at the forefront of his mind as he gracefully and stealthily wound through bushes and trees, his eyes scanning the ground for a small animal to bat around.

His nose, which had a very sharp sense of smell, started to pick up on something. Flesh. An animal must be close. He kept close to the ground and narrowed his eyes, sniffing the ground as he went for a better lead. It slowly got stronger as he walked further, but he could never seem to track down where exactly it was coming from.

The soft muddy ground abruptly transitioned into a rougher, grainy texture against his nose, and he yanked back in surprise to see a strange rocky texture forming some sort of wide path that stretched far beyond his scope of vision. He sniffed the strange, grey, chunky matter and pawed at it, then placed another paw on top of it. It reminded him of walking upon the loose rock of a mountain, and cautiously he placed all four paws on top of the path. The scent grew much stronger here; it almost smelled as if more than one animal had been on this path, and he followed it for several miles along the winding road.

Something else wormed its way into his senses - the smell of fish. His ears pricked forward and he eagerly followed the scent, picking up pace as he did so. He would do anything to get his paws on some fish; he was beginning to get hungry. This strange combination of flesh and fish grew stronger and stronger, until he found himself standing at the top of a hill. A breath of ocean wind blew his way, and he licked his lips upon feeling that familiar salty air stick to him. He blinked and looked over the hill, now sure he was getting close to the ocean.

But what he saw at the bottom of the hill was the last thing he had expected to see.

There was the sea, as he already knew was there, but at the edge of the white foamy waves bobbed hundreds of floating vehicles with large, brightly-decorated sails. Little dark specks moved along the sandy shore and all along the green grass that sloped all the way down the hill from where he stood. Strangely-shaped buildings dotted the landscape, and the sound of metal equipment banging together echoed through the valley. Those same little dark specks were also atop the roofs of some of these buildings with their metal equipment, others climbing into the strange floating vehicles, and others still moving around with no sense of direction or purpose.

One part of him was awed, the other afraid. This was no doubt the human encampment his mother had warned him to stay away from.

But he had never actually seen humans before, and he had always been so curious of them ever since his mother told him about them. He wanted to know the reason for fearing them in the first place. As far as he could tell, they were down there minding their own business and were nowhere near any dragons at all. He had always supposed they kept dragons in cages or something cruel like that, and then captured any others that happened to cross their path. But their encampment was far different than anything he had ever imagined. Happy noises of young humans floated up the valley and met his ears, and he couldn't help but coo and gurgle at the sound. He ached to bound down the hill and join the small group of laughing children in their careless play, and for a few odd, fleeting moments he almost believed he could.

Before he could run away with those light and carefree emotions, he could hear two human voices slowly getting louder, and two of the specks turned into human figures as they climbed up the hill. He darted as fast and silently as he could behind a bush and watched as the young humans passed him by without even noticing him there. Finally, for the first time in his life, he had seen not just one - but _two_ - humans up close!

They weren't infant children, he knew that from their height, but he was sure they weren't full-grown, either. They slightly resembled the grown up ones, but had many childish qualities about them, despite their broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs. One had a large, double-sided weapon slung over his shoulder, and he cringed upon seeing it.

Maybe they weren't so innocent after all.

"Just wait until I kill my first Deadly Nadder," one of them was jeering. "Won't my dad be proud! Yanno, the first dragon _he _ever killed was a Nadder."

"My father's already made me my own _sword_," the other bragged. "I can't wait to spill some Gronckle guts with that beauty! The Elder's definitely gonna pick _me_ to kill my first dragon in the Ring come the end of Dragon Training. You just _wait_, Badbreath."

The young Night Fury couldn't understand a word they were saying, but he could sense the cruel, ruthless tones of their message regardless. Maybe it was a good idea to get out of here, before one of them found him.


	5. Chapter 5

Hiccup sat quiet and as still as he possibly could as his twisted, broken ankle was gently set into a splint Gobber had made. He winced at the pain and held back tears as Gobber worked to align his ankle, and even Gobber bit his lip every time he felt Hiccup jerk at the sharp pain.

"Hey, hey, hold still there, lad," he urged Hiccup, trying to calm him as he did so. "We'll never get you back on your feet if ya don't sit still for just a minute..."

Hiccup wiped his eyes. "But you're hurting me, Gobber."

Gobber shook his head and gave a short laugh. "Oh, twisted ankle's _nothing_, Hiccup. How about losing your entire _leg?_ That'll teach you about _pain_...!" He gestured to his right leg, where a wooden peg was attached to serve in place of the missing leg. Hiccup went silent at the comment and looked up at Gobber with wide, teary eyes. Gobber smiled to himself, shaking his head as he finished setting Hiccup's ankle.

"Were you scared when that dragon bit it off?" Hiccup wondered, whispering the words as if he were afraid to hurt Gobber's feelings with the inquiry. Gobber indifferently shook his head.

"Nah, more angry than anything," he replied, patting Hiccup's leg. "And the first few days afterward... pure _hell_, I tell ya! Took me almost a week before the pain had gone down enough for me to walk!"

Hiccup tilted his head. "So, you weren't sad that you'd never be able to walk on two legs again, or anything like that?"

"Nope, just a bit upset, is all. And quite inconvenienced. It was a bit of trouble getting used to it - took me almost seven years, in fact!" Gobber laughed at the memories, and Hiccup smiled a bit. He wagged a finger at the boy. "Now don't you go losing _your_ leg, little lad! I'll have to get you back on your feet all over again!" He helped a giggling Hiccup to the floor and kept a hand on the boy's back as he limped towards the doorway.

"Thank you," Hiccup called as he staggered out the door. Gobber smiled and waved him off.

"Don't mention it, little one," he yelled back, watching with slight laughter as Hiccup carefully made his way up the steep hill toward his house. It was much harder to do with his ankle hurting so much, and now even harder with the splint on. Even if he had been given crutches of some kind, they wouldn't have helped much in the hilly, rocky terrain of Berk.

Stoick saw his son struggling to climb the hill and called out to him from the house. "Why don't you go down and play with the other kids, Hiccup? I know you want to sit down here at home and draw, but aren't there other things you could be doing with kids your own age?"

Hiccup huffed and panted as he made it to the top of the hill. "But Daddy, my ankle still hurts really bad. They probably all want to play Bashyball, and I can't with my leg in this stupid splint!" He sighed and hung his head. "Plus, I'm no good at that game, anyway. They always beat me up."

"Oh, come on, Hiccup!" Stoick roared, giving the boy a firm slap on the back. It nearly knocked all the wind out of the toddler's tiny lungs. "Man up! Vikings don't fuss over a broken ankle, they just get back on it and deal with the pain! You'll be hurting far worse the day you first get grazed by a dragon's claw, I promise you that!"

Hiccup rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Go on now, son," Stoick coaxed once more. "You'll be fine."

Hiccup reluctantly obeyed and inched carefully down the hill, trying to ignore the wave of pain that shot up his leg every time he put pressure on his injured ankle. It wasn't as easy to "deal with the pain" as his father had made it sound, and he grit his teeth all the way down the hill and released a sigh of relief when he got to the bottom. Some of the kids who had been playing together noticed Hiccup approaching and giggled when they saw him limping towards them.

"What happened to _you_, Hiccup?" spat Snotlout, a big brute of a boy who was only a month older than Hiccup, but far more burly and tough. "Trip on a dandelion?"

The rest of the kids laughed at the comment, and Hiccup turned bright red.

"He was even _limping_ on it, too," giggled a scrawny five year-old named Tuffnut, whose bleach blonde hair seemed to be continually matted and tangled. "What kind of Viking _limps_ on their broken ankle?"

"I bet he caught it in something stupid, like the door on the way out of his own house," Tuffnut's twin sister, Ruffnut, howled. The kids found Hiccup's small injury to be quite amusing, but Hiccup wasn't finding any humor in it whatsoever. He turned around to walk away from the rowdy group of grimy-faced kids, but was stopped by Snotlout.

"We were just joking, Hiccup," he assured him, not really sounding all that sincere. "Hey, why don't you play Bashyball with us? You're really no good at it, but maybe if you keep trying you'll get better." Hiccup firmly shook his head.

"I'll just hurt my ankle even _worse_ if I play with _you guys_," he said, backing up a little. "You're all really rough and mean about it, and you don't even play by a set of rules! No one can win fair and square without rules, you know." Snotlout rolled his eyes, and all the other kids gave an annoyed groan.

"Rules are no fun," Snotlout remarked, shoving his angry face into Hiccup's. Hiccup quickly came to the conclusion that Snotlout had to have _the_ worst-smelling breath he had ever smelled in his life. The stench of day-old cod, mussels, and possibly soured goat's milk from that morning's breakfast bubbled out of the boy's gaping mouth and wound around Hiccup's head like a poisonous gas, threatening to knock him over dead. It was all he could do to stand upright and look Snotlout in the eye.

"Yeah, and who _doesn't_ play rough around here?" yelled another smelly four year-old named Dogsbreath. "You're a wimpy little girly!" He was quickly elbowed in the stomach by a fair-skinned, blonde-haired girl named Astrid, who was probably tougher than most of the boys in the village put together.

"Not _all_ girlies are wimps," she fiercely spat as she walked past him. She came up behind Snotlout and grabbed him by the collar, then threw him effortlessly onto the ground. She leveled her eyes at Hiccup's and folded her arms. "You can sit out if you want. You'll never get better at the game if you can't even play." She gestured to the splint on Hiccup's ankle. "With _that _in the way, you'll only embarrass yourself."

Hiccup had been blushing earlier, but he felt his face flush a deep shade of pink all over again as Astrid looked him in the eye.

"Y-yeah, probably," he mumbled, hardly even aware of the words coming out. Had what he just said made any sense? Astrid simply turned around to face the other boys and started barking orders for them to line up. Snotlout pushed himself to his feet and stood face-to-face with Hiccup again, his face still twisted into an angry sneer.

"Didn'tcha hear what Dogsbreath called you?" he asked. Dogsbreath marched over, ignoring the other boys who were assembling for Bashyball, and folded his arms across his chest. "He called you _wimpy_. You're _weak_. You're nothing like the rest of us, and you'll _never_ be." He started to inch closer with his finger shoved into Hiccup's chest, slowly causing him to stumble backwards. "Your dad even cursed Odin when you were born; said he wished you had never _been_ born. _My_ dad never cursed the gods for me - I was everything he ever wanted in a son. And you? You're just disappointing your father every single day you wake up alive."

Hiccup's eyes were wide, and they were beginning to sting with tears. "Who... who told you all of this? That's not true..."

"Of course it's true!" Snotlout cried. "Everyone knows your dad hates you."

"Yeah, and until you man up and become one of us," boomed Dogsbreath, sticking out his chest, "you're dad's only going to _keep_ hating you." Now Hiccup couldn't fight the tears, and they all burst loose in a deluge of tears and sobs.

"My dad... does _not_... hate me...!" he insisted, trying to get the words out past the sobbing. Snotlout and Dogsbreath guffawed at the comment. "He just... he saved my life today. If he hated me... he... he wouldn't have. He doesn't hate me. He _doesn't!_" He threw his face into his hands and drew in a ragged, sniffly breath. "You're both _lying!_"

The kids who were getting ready to play stopped whatever they were doing and all turned around when they heard Hiccup start to cry. None of them were quite sure what to do, and stood there silent while Snotlout and Dogsbreath laughed. A few of the boys joined in with the laughter after several awkward moments, and Hiccup whirled around to run away from them all but ended up tripping on his ankle instead. Dogsbreath kicked at him and laughed harder.

"Come on, wimpy!" he cried. "Get up! What kind of Viking just lays there and _cries_, anyway?"

"_That_ kind of Viking, obviously!" Snotlout replied with a snicker. "Or maybe I should say _not-so-Viking!_"

"That's ENOUGH outta you boys!" came the loud, stern voice of Gobber, who was making his way towards the group as fast as he possibly could. Snotlout and Dogsbreath choked on their laughter and bit their lips at Gobber's spine-tingling yell, immediately falling silent as he walked onto the scene. Hiccup was still crying as he got up, his face in his palms, trying as hard as he could to calm himself down. Gobber shook his head in disgust at Snotlout and Dogsbreath, narrowing his eyes at them.

"W-we're sorry, sir," they immediately blurted in unison, beginning to wring their hands.

"Now, don't say sorry to _me_, lads!" Gobber nearly screamed, pointing to Hiccup. "Apologize to the one ya _hurt!_ I don't want to see anything like this happening again, you understand?"

There was no reply from anyone.

"What a bunch of smelly, sorry-faced limpet droppings the lot of you are!" Gobber loudly continued, wrapping his arm around Hiccup's shoulders. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves for this kind of behavior! Ah-ah - now _don't_ you give me that look! I know these two," he waved his other hand at Dogsbreath and Snotlout, "weren't the _only_ ones involved in the name-calling. I think an all-around apology is in order here!"

All of the children hung their heads and shuffled their feet. "Sorry, Hiccup," they insincerely muttered. Gobber stamped his foot.

"SAY IT LIKE YA MEAN IT!" he bellowed.

"We're really sorry, Hiccup," the group replied, and with much more gusto - more out of fear than anything. Gobber nodded in satisfaction and gave Hiccup a quick pat on the shoulder.

"You run off home now, Hiccup, I'll be there behind you to help you along," he softly said, gently pushing Hiccup forward. He looked up at the other kids. "And as for the rest of you, I think all of you deserve a good ol' switch on the rear - but none of that's up to me, of course. Oh, but if it were... _ha!_" He laughed a bit and shook his head, looking over the group of kids who were presently shaking in their boots at the mere _idea_ of a spanking. "_All_ of you would have been a howling, teary-faced mess, praying to Thor for mercy!" He laughed to himself, picturing the scene in his mind, as he slowly and carefully helped Hiccup walk back home.


	6. Chapter 6

Mother Night Fury and her son stood at the crest of a rocky, steep hill overlooking the human village as the sun disappeared from view and night slowly crept upon the island. Silent and unwavering they stood; watching and waiting. One by one, the lights began to go out from inside the homes dotting the hilly landscape, and all melted away into darkness. The young Night Fury heard his mother give a light snort of satisfaction.

Not long later, as the stars emerged from behind the clouds and the moon began to cast its light upon the slumbering village, he could hear the faint sound of flapping wings coming up from behind. Scattered shrieks and calls of all different kinds floated through the air and caught his ears, and they jerked toward the sound. Seconds later his head followed suit, and he could see winged silhouettes cutting through the diamond-studded sky. He gurgled in curiosity. Other dragons. What were they all doing here?

Honestly, he had no idea why his mother had brought him out here, and at the time he'd normally be settled down for the night, too. Now here were all these dragons, coming out of nowhere to congregate in the same area. There had to be at least sixty or seventy of them, all different sizes and species.

A sudden excitement began to bubble in his veins as he finally understood what was happening. A raid. And his mother was allowing him the opportunity to join in this time.

Energy rushed through his body, and he stamped his feet against the ground in anxiety, but his mother gave a low growl and shook her head. His ears drooped and he looked up at his mother with wide eyes, feeling the excitement sink at her stern gaze, which clearly told him "Not yet". In reply, he narrowed his eyes, let out a deep, rumbling groan from his throat and tossed his head in indignation, scraping his claws into the ground. His mother disapproved of his behavior and gave him a good tug on the ear for it, which induced a surprised yelp from the young Night Fury. She grabbed his attention and motioned for him to look at her, and he reluctantly obeyed. Her ancient, knowing eyes stared deeply into his, as if trying to transfer some kind of knowledge or advice into his mind, and there came a sweet gurgle from inside of her - one that he had heard many times before. He pressed his nose into her chest and nuzzled it for a few moments. It was her way of saying "I love you", laced with a gentle undertone of "Good luck".

A bright flash of light seized their attention as a spout of flame burst from the mouth of a Gronckle down below, igniting one of the human homes. Instantly, humans poured outside from all directions, yelling and waving weapons in the air. Lights reappeared all over the village and illuminated the bellies of dragons as they swooped in close to steal various animals from their pens, and a few of the dragons knocked humans over in the process. Some of the humans jumped onto the backs of dragons who had their claws full of a bleating goat or a lowing cow, smacking them as hard as they could with their weapons and big, white-knuckled fists. More flames shot out of the dragons' mouths and devoured homes, machinery, and even a few unfortunate animals.

Thirty-two full minutes passed before his mother gave him the signal, and for a few moments he was frozen to the ground in the rush of new energy he felt. He slowly opened up his wings, narrowed his eyes, and crouched low to the ground at the edge of the cliff, concentrating all his energy into his legs. And in one swift burst of adrenaline, he had leapt over the side and into the air, gliding down towards the earth at a phenomenal, breakneck speed. He flapped his wings once to gain momentum and then tucked them in tight to increase the speed of his descent. All in a matter of two to three seconds, he had sighted his first target and locked onto it: the tallest house at the very top of the hill, currently untouched by any of the other dragons.

He let out a shrill, ear-piercing shriek as he approached his target, and shot a burst of blinding blue flame into the air five hundred feet from the house. He didn't miss. The house burst into flame, and another second later he flew right through the destruction he had caused, back up into the air where no one could see him.

The Night Fury became invisible, but his hellish, haunting shriek could be heard for miles. Every human trembled at the mere sound. And for the first time in his life, he sensed the raw power every single one of his kind contained. He had the power to terrorize without even showing his face.

The realization of that power seemed to give him new drive and passion, and he raced down toward the village again for another shot; this time, an entire row of Viking ships floating in the harbor. Once again, only one shot was fired, and all seven of the boats he shot at went up in flames. He could hear the humans crying out and panicking when they caught merely a glimpse of his phantom silhouette. They never, ever saw him. Nor had they _ever _seen a Night Fury fully reveal itself before. The mysterious beings simply flashed in and out of vision like a bolt of lightning, and so had he.

Several large human machines fell victim to his deadly and accurate shots, as well as two or three more homes and few pens full of animals. Humans continued to scream and shout, shooting huge burning balls of fire in vain attempts to bring down the Night Fury, who soared far out of their range and back up into the air for another swift attack. On his way down, a Deadly Nadder happened to saunter in the way of his descent, and the two collided in mid-air about five hundred feet from the ground, sending him aimlessly spinning out of control. If he even so much as drifted into the humans' range of vision, they'd lay fire on him within moments and probably take him out entirely. In a matter of milliseconds, he balanced himself and held his wings erect, twisting his tail back and forth to steer himself upwards. The Nadder, who was also rapidly plummeting towards the ground, accidentally struck him in the side with its tail, and he screeched in pain. He could hear the Nadder shrieking its hideous, warbly cry as it collided with the ground and was instantly surrounded by humans. He, however, narrowly escaped the same fate as the unfortunate Nadder and soared back up into the sky, far away from the rest. His body ached from the collision as well as the blow from the Nadder's tail, and he desperately wanted to stop and breathe.

He let out one last echoing cry as he flew towards the woods - a reminder to the humans to forever fear the Night Fury.

After ten minutes of searching, he finally found a place nearby to settle for the night, and after a closer examination of his surroundings he realized he was in the same gorge he and his mother had lived in several years before. He jumped into the small pond in the middle of the gorge and let the cool water roll off of his scales to refresh himself, then splashed around some more to scare a few fish. Giving a low, playful growl, he swatted at some fish with his paws and eventually caught one in his mouth to munch on before bed. When he stepped out of the water and shook himself dry, he noticed his mother landing in the gorge alongside him. She congratulated him on his first successful raid by nuzzling him gently, then laid down beside him as he tore apart his dinner. She fell asleep sometime during his meal, and once he had licked every last ounce of flesh off of the fish, he too settled down and closed his eyes, not really realizing just how tired he was until his body was completely still.

Unfortunately, morning came all too soon for him, and at the first ray of morning light his eyes snapped open. He thought he had heard something up on the ledge - rustling leaves and snapping branches. His head whipped toward where he thought he had heard the noise, and his eyes dutifully scanned across the entire area without sighting anything unusual. With a sigh of indifference, he readjusted himself beside his still slumbering mother and worked to close his eyes again, but the sun shone through his eyelids and rendered sleep impossible. Annoyed, he opened his eyes again and momentarily glanced around. He hadn't heard any more noise, everything seemed in order, and he just wanted to sleep in a little bit longer until his mother woke up.

No, wait. There it was again. The rustling. This time he got up on all fours and stretched, then slowly began to walk around as his eyes cautiously darted to and fro. He saw something moving slowly down the ridge along a naturally carved path that seemed to slope like stairs down into the gorge, and he stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes, a menacing growl beginning to rumble in his throat. Leaves shook as the small creature made its way into the gorge, and he swiftly dashed behind a rock to lie in wait for whatever sorry victim dared to disturb two Night Furies.


End file.
